


Bittersweet and Strange

by Foxtrots



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Evil Mary, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Past Drug Use, a bit of a series 4 fix-it fic, past Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxtrots/pseuds/Foxtrots
Summary: Takes place after series 4. John and Rosie move into 221b and Sherlock adjusts to his new life as a caretaker. When everything seems just about perfect, Mary's past comes back for them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I changed the title from Resolution to Bittersweet and Strange. Because I like the song reference and I never liked Resolution as a title but I was too eager to post.

 

“Watson, I need you to focus.” Sherlock stared at the dinner table-turned-lab. Among the mess were a few test tubes and beakers filled with various liquids and a microscope with a burnt out bulb. Papers were scattered dangerously close to the Bunsen burner that glowed a dim flame. Sherlock dramatically whipped around, his dressing gown flowing with his movement as faced his devoted helper. 

Rosie giggled as she knocked over her tower of blocks.

“Not entirely helpful,” Sherlock replied as he crossed the room to pick the child up. Rosie reached for his safety goggles.

She had John's nose and Mary's lips and blonde hair from the both of them. But the most distinct feature about her were her eyes. The very same expressive blue eyes John had. To Sherlock, she was absolutely perfect. Anything of John's was perfect to Sherlock.

The main door to the flat opened and closed with a slam. Rosie became suddenly alert and turned her head to the direction of the noise. “Who's that?” Sherlock cooed. Rosie gurgled. Footsteps came up the old staircase. “Who's that?” Sherlock said again and Rosie started to wriggle with excitement.

“Sorry I'm late,” John said as he stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath. Rosie gave a squeal of delight and held her arms out towards John. Sherlock handed her over and Rosie nestled her head into John's neck.

“It's fine,” Sherlock replied.

John took a few steps into the flat and frowned when he saw the state of the table. It was one accidental bump away from causing an explosion bigger than any grenade could. “You know I don't like you doing those tests when Rosie's here.”

“It's fine,” Sherlock said again. “Anything dangerous is out of her reach. Her toys and all things of interest to her are in the living room, and my experiments are in the kitchen.”

John didn't look convinced but he didn't voice his opinions. Instead, he gave Rosie a kiss on the cheek and grabbed her diaper bag. The toys that littered the living room floor went ignored – John didn't bother cleaning them up when he'd only be back later to drop Rosie off again. The flat had become her second home while John was at work. John offered to hire a nanny but Sherlock insisted on looking after Rosie during the week.

“I guess we should be going,” John said.

“I'll see you Monday,” Sherlock replied. Fridays were the worst. It meant two entire days without Rosie or John. That left him plenty of time to work on current cases, but the flat felt so empty when it was just him.

“Yep.” John nodded, but he didn't leave the flat. After pausing for a moment, he spoke again, “Listen...I was thinking...”

“Yes?”

John awkwardly shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he tried to find the right words. “Seems a bit silly, y'know, me having to always stop by the flat to pick up Rosie or drop her off. Takes time out of my day. The flat's not even near the clinic.”

Sherlock felt his heart sink. If John wanted to hire a nanny, Sherlock couldn't stop him. But he'd be heartbroken. Then again, he knew this arrangement wouldn't last long. Sherlock wasn't a proper caretaker and Rosie needed someone who was better skilled to attend to her needs.

“I understand,” Sherlock replied.

“You do?”

“Of course. Rosie needs someone more capable than me. Someone with proper training and experience. I'm a consulting detective, not a babysitter. I just ask I can visit her a few times a week.”

“That's not what I was--”

“It's not?” Sherlock struggled to hide his excitement. Maybe Rosie would stay in his care after all.

“No, it's just that...” John trailed off again. “The house is pretty big...y'know with just Rosie and me. A bit empty. And she's here often enough as is and unless Mrs Hudson was thinking about renting out my old room here...I was just thinking maybe we could...um...move in.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Rosie would stay in my room. Put her crib up in there so I'd look after her whenever she woke up in the night,” John went on. “I mean, we'd have to move out when she gets old enough to need her own room. It's just temporary. But...” John needed to be in a familiar place. A place that held good memories. The home he shared with Mary was filled with lies and resentment and while they had good times together, he couldn't live there much longer. It felt like it was haunted. Moving back into 221b was more for John's benefit than Rosie's, but he'd never admit to that.

“Yes,” Sherlock said again, ready to hire a moving truck on the spot. “Stay as long as you need to.”

“If that's okay,” John said quietly.

“It's very okay,” Sherlock replied. The thought of having John and Rosie in the same flat as him made it feel brighter already. “When do you plan on moving in? Getting are your things over here?”

John adjusted Rosie in his arms. “I have tomorrow off. How does that sound?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

It was awkward to say the least. John didn't feel at home in the place he once called home. Instead, he felt more a like a guest. Even when his things were moved in, it didn't feel right to him. Currently, his room was crammed with the addition of Rosie's crib and she still woke a few times in the night. Sherlock did his best to help John out with responsibilities, but John often refused the help, not wanting to admit he needed any.

Rosie had been particularly fussy all day and John was stubborn in refusing Sherlock's help. By the time she was put to bed, John was ready for some sleep himself. It wasn't even 8:00, but he felt like he needed the early night.

John was already in his pajamas when he went to inform Sherlock of his early night.

Sherlock looked up from his book to take in the tired sight of John. Bags under his eyes, a tired frown on his face, messed hair and dishevelled pajamas. Sherlock was tempted to remind John he was perfectly capable to help with Rosie's care, but he knew that'd be turned down.

“Just wanted to let you know I'm gonna head in early,” John stated, feeling like he had to inform Sherlock of when he was going to sleep. It felt like he was asking a teacher to use the bathroom in public school.

“Hmm.” To Sherlock, their relationship felt forced. Something had wedged between them, but he wasn't entirely sure what.

When John tucked himself in bed, he found he couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts in his mind. Thoughts that this new living arrangement wasn't going to work out and he'd have to find a new place to live. Thoughts about Mary. Thoughts about Rosie. When he finally did manage to fall asleep, he jolted awake from a bad dream, though he couldn't quite recall it.

“I thought you went to bed,” Sherlock said when John showed up in the living room.

John sat on the sofa. “Can't,” he replied as he turned on the television, hoping there was something on that could calm his mind. A cop show caught his eye. John kept the television on the lowest volume setting, not wanting to disturb Sherlock's reading. Sherlock could barely hear the mumbled voices and put his book down and sat beside John on the sofa and adjusted the volume.

The show was partway in the episode, but it was easy enough to follow what had happened. A young cop was assigned a difficult case a new partner. She was grumpy and took everything too seriously. She was hardened from her work and couldn't find it in her to smile. The cop liked her, but the woman obviously wasn't interested. She muttered she was married to her work.

“That's not how it's done,” John muttered during a morgue scene. The mortician looked over the body in a matter of seconds and knew the exact moment the victim died. Later in the show, a surveillance video was zoomed in impossibly close while keeping its perfect resolution. Sherlock snorted.

There was something still charming about the show. The way it was written perhaps, or the set, or the actors themselves.

“Remember our first case?” John sleepily asked.

“Yeah.”

“Thought you were mad. I thought... thought you did it.”

“Did you, now?”

“Hmm... but I shot him...that cabbie for you.”

“I believe I thanked you for that already.”

John leaned over and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock froze from the sudden contact. “It was weird. Really strange, but...” John drifted off to sleep for a few moments before waking himself again. “It...it was the best night of my life.”

“Mine too.”

John never had the courage to get this close to Sherlock. There were times when he wanted to. Maybe hug him or hold him, but John was too proud to show any affection like that. Bu he felt small and vulnerable and Sherlock felt comforting. Maybe it'd be awkward later on, but at the moment, in this very point in time, John was comfortable.

“I always wanted to tell you,” John muttered.

“What?”

“I always wanted to tell you....that...” John had trouble staying awake now. “That...I...”

Sherlock waited for John to continue, but John had fallen into a deep sleep. The best sleep he had in ages. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is sprouting chapters everywhere and my very neat outline that has twelve chapters is turning into a suggestion. I don't know how many chapters the fic will have, but it's more than twelve. Either way the chapter count has been changed to ?. How many chapters are there? We just don't know.

Rosie and John had started to fall into a routine: Rosie would wake up bright an early to demand breakfast and John would pull himself from bed and groggily prepare her bottle. But today was different. John didn't have any appointments until the afternoon, leaving him the morning to sleep in. It had been ages since he had been able to just sleep in, to bundle himself in the blankets and hide his face from the sun that came through his window. To not have anything important to do and to spend a frivolous morning in bed.

But his sense of calm didn't last for long. John woke with a start. The sun was spilling into his room. His very quiet room. It was odd that Rosie didn't wake him and when he glanced to her crib, he gasped in horror when he saw it empty.

John raced down to the main floor, his heart pounding in his chest. “Someone's taken Rosie. She's not there!” he panted as he burst into the kitchen, only find Sherlock calmly sitting on a chair, feeding Rosie her mushed baby food. “Oh.” False alarm. John's face with a bit red with embarrassment. “Sorry, I...”

“I thought you should sleep in,” Sherlock replied, looking bashful himself. “I thought I'd be helping you by looking after her this morning. I didn't mean to worry you.”

“It's fine.”

Rosie glanced John's way for a moment, then back to Sherlock, holding her mouth open. Her mouth and chin were covered in a green mush, probably pear. Sherlock fed her the last mouthful. When she was finished eating, he wiped off her face and pulled her into his arms.

“Come here, you,” John said as he took Rosie from Sherlock. The girl cooed as she rested her head on John's shoulder, content from breakfast. “I have a shift later today,” he mentioned. “Would you mind watching Rosie?” John felt guilty for asking. Sherlock wasn't a babysitter and Rosie wasn't his responsibility. But John couldn't skip out on another shift.

“Of course.” Sherlock stood by John and ran his fingers through Rosie's hair. They stood close to each other for a few moments until Sherlock made an observation. “You're still wearing your wedding ring.”

John glanced down at his ring finger. “Yeah. I should probably take it off. Not like Mary's coming back.”

“You miss her.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry.”

John shook his head. “Don't be. It was unfortunate what happened but...” he looked into Sherlock's eyes. “It is what it is.”

Sherlock gave a gentle nod.

John held his gaze on Sherlock. “I loved Mary and she was there when I needed her. We needed each other right there and then and it worked out. And ideally she'd still be here, but all things considered, I'm happy where I am right now. With you.”

Sherlock scoffed. John didn't actually feel that way. It was a mix of grief and some other emotion he was feeling. Soon enough he'd be back to dating and would find a replacement Mary and move in with her and leave Sherlock behind again.

“No really,” John continued. “I'm happy with you.”

“It's a nice thought but--”

“What I'm trying to say is...” John interrupted, but lost his voice. The two stared at each other for a moment, John looking completely serious and Sherlock looking vulnerable. They stared in complete silence because nothing had to be said. What John wanted to say had already been said again and again ages ago. But just to make sure Sherlock really did understand what John meant, he ever so gently reached for Sherlock's hand and Sherlock ever so gently laced his fingers between John's. “Is this okay?”

“It's wonderful.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

And just like that, life started again. John started to smile more and feel excited. Colleagues and patients noticed a change in him – a good one. A bright one that made him happy. Perhaps his life wasn't one he expected to live, raising a child with his flatmate, and his flatmate becoming something more than just a friend, but he enjoyed it. 

Sherlock and John had never talked about their relationship or what it was. They went on dates, but neither of them referred to it as such. They cuddled on the sofa while watching crap television. They kissed each other goodbye before John left for work or when Sherlock went to investigate a case.

What they had didn't need a name. It didn't need to be in a category of “boyfriends” or “partners” or “lovers.” They were happy together and that was the only thing that mattered.

Rosie was happy as well. She was growing like a weed and she always seemed to be smiling. Sherlock treated her as if she were his own daughter and Rosie loved him as if she were her father.

The two were seated on the sofa together, reading a book. Or rather, Sherlock was reading the book out loud and Rosie chewed on her stuffed toy as she listened. Every so often, he'd run his fingers through her curly blonde hair as he read and Rosie sopped up all of the attention.

“I'm heading to work,” John said as he grabbed his coat off the hanger. John couldn't help but smile when he took in the sight of Sherlock and Rosie curled up together on the sofa. It looked so natural. “What are you reading?”

“Animal Farm.”

“That's actually not a children's book.”

“I know.”

John crossed the room to the sofa and hovered over Sherlock. “Be good,” he said as he leaned over to give him a kiss. Then he leaned even further down to kiss Rosie on the top of her head. She seemed more interested in devouring her toy.

“See you later,” he said as he went to the door. Before he left, he paused, his hand resting on the doorknob. “Sherlock...” his voice was suddenly gentle.

“Hmm?” Sherlock didn't look up from the book.

“I...” John shook his head. “I'll see you later,” he said again before leaving.

Rosie stayed cuddled up to Sherlock as he continued to read. She didn't fully understand what he was saying, but she liked listening to his deep voice speaking in a gentle cadence.

Sherlock was briefly interrupted by the noise of his phone buzzing, having received a text. The message went ignored and Sherlock continued his reading. But the phone buzzed again and again. It was probably of some importance if the sender thought it necessary to give out that many texts and Sherlock grabbed his phone.

 

New case. G.

I think you'll like it. G.

Quadruple murder it looks like. G.

No suspect. G.

 

The next text was the address. Sherlock smiled as he went over the texts, but frowned when he realised Rosie was in his care. Mrs Hudson was out at some hot yoga class. Lestrade was obviously off the table for being a babysitter as he was at the case. Sherlock's thumb hovered over Molly's name in his contacts list, but he didn't select her. Molly was angry with him, and why wouldn't she be? After saying he loved her for a case, she had reason to be angry. Sherlock had of course told her the reasoning for that strange phone call, but every time he had seen her since, she seemed...off in a way. Distant, maybe. She would talk and laugh with John just fine, but whenever Sherlock entered the room, she'd go quiet. It probably wasn't the best to ask her to babysit.

Sherlock glanced down at Rosie and she glanced up at him.

 

 

Is it dangerous? SH

 

 

No. But it's interesting. I promise it's interesting. G.

 

 

I'm in. SH

 

 

Lestrade met Sherlock outside of the yellow police tape that blocked off the house. “Are you serious?” he asked, trying not to raise his voice too high to gather any attention.

“Yes.”

Greg sighed. “You can't be serious.”

“I am.”

“It's just that...”

“What?”

“I don't really think a crime scene's a good place for a baby.”

Sherlock stood tall and proud, wearing his long dark coat and dark blue scarf. In his pockets was his magnifying glass, phone, lock-picking tools (you never know) and whatever else might come in useful for a case. Strapped to his chest was Rosie in her carrier. The dangling scarf was unfortunately within reach of Rosie and she had started to chew on it.

“You said it wasn't dangerous,” Sherlock replied, ducking under the police tape. “If it's not dangerous, then it's safe. If it's safe, I can bring Rosie.”

“How'd you talk John into letting her come?” Greg followed him to the house.

“I didn't. John's at work and no one else was available to look after her.”

“Ah.”

Sherlock was gawked at as he walked into the house. Some officers were bent over taking pictures of a corpse that was on the ground while others were dusting for fingerprints or finding evidence. But they all stopped and stared as soon as he walked in.

Sherlock did his best to ignore the looks and crouched beside the corpse. “I thought it was a quadruple murder,” he said as he gently examined the body. Rosie gurgled and reached out to the body and Sherlock had to hold her grabbing hands back.

“It really isn't appropriate to bring a baby here,” Lestrade said. “Look, I know I asked you to come, but I didn't realise you'd bring Rosie.” Rosie cooed at the sound of her name. “But I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. This is no place for a baby, I'm sorry.”

“She doesn't even understand what she's seeing. She'll forget it all by the time she gets tucked in for bed.” Sherlock stood up. “I only see one body. Where's the other three? What makes you sure they're connected?”

“Sherlock.” Greg gave him a serious look that Sherlock ignored.

“Did the victims know each other? Did they all die at the same time by the same cause? Why are they connected?”

Greg shoved his hands into his coat pockets. The poor DI had dealt with Sherlock for years upon years. Had to tolerate his quick insults and ever-changing mood. Had to look after him when he was homeless and high. There was a long history of Greg tolerating Sherlock, but this crossed a line. “Either you willingly walk out with Rosie or I'll get an officer to escort you out.” Greg hated having to threaten Sherlock like that, but he thought it had to be done. John would be absolutely livid if he found out Lestrade let Rosie stay at crime scene. “I'm serious. I won't have Rosie here, do you understand? Now get her back home before someone calls child services.” John would be even more livid if he had to pick his daughter up from the authorities.

Sherlock for a moment looked embarrassed. To him it was a fine idea to bring Rosie, but maybe it wasn't that fine of an idea after all. Maybe it was even selfish to drag Rosie out here knowing it was against John's wishes. Maybe he had to give up a few things when looking after her. But a moment later he looked like his stone-cold self. “Feel free to drop by the flat when you figure out you can't solve this case on your own.”

With that, he was gone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm up to my elbows in papers right now which explains the shortness of this chapter. And there is a story that's going to start.......eventually. There's a plot that'll show its face soon enough. There is an actual plan, need to to worry. If you were worrying. If you weren't worrying, carry on as usual.

John rubbed his finger where his wedding ring used to be. “I'm not mad, you know.”

“Hmm?”

John went to hover in the doorway of the bathroom and watched Sherlock brush his teeth. “I'm not mad.”

“'bout what?” Sherlock spat into the sink and rinsed off his toothbrush.

“Greg told me what you did today. That you took Rosie to a crime scene.”

Sherlock froze, his eyes on John's reflection in the mirror. The detective stood very still, as if John were a bomb that was about to go off. John wasn't one to show emotion and he presented anger in a few ways. Sometimes he'd go silent and bottle it in. On very rare occasions he'd yell. Rosie had just been tucked into bed in John's old room so he'd probably refrain from shouting to not disturb her sleep.

Sherlock went from the bathroom to the bedroom.

“I'm not mad, you know,” John said, breaking the silence. Sherlock didn't reply and instead thought about how he could defuse John. “I'm really not.” Despite it all, John was smiling. “I should have known better. I should have known you wouldn't stay away from cases.”

Sherlock crawled into his side of the bed. “It was irresponsible of me.”

“No, it was selfish of me to expect you to drop everything for Rosie.” John got in bed next to him and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. “We should have worked out a plan. What to do when I'm at work and you get a case.” Sherlock was about to reply, but John interrupted him. “It's not fair to rely on Mrs Hudson to always look after her either.” It was obvious Mrs Hudson adored the child and found any excuse to visit her. At times she'd even urge Sherlock and John to go out for the night so she could keep Rosie all to herself. But it wasn't right to expect her to drop everything to look after Rosie on a whim. “I was thinking about hiring a babysitter.”

Sherlock pulled a face.

“What?”

“I don't want a _stranger_ looking after Rosie,” Sherlock replied. “I want someone I trust.”

“See, I had a feeling you'd say that,” John said. “Well actually I thought you'd call all babysitters idiots. But taking that into consideration, we'd have to hold interviews. Get a feel at who's qualified, who we can trust.”

Sherlock didn't reply.

“The next time we both get time off, we'll take a look at some people. How's that sound?”

Again, Sherlock didn't reply. But he didn't say no.

 

* * *

 

Interviews were a nightmare to say the least. Sherlock and John received a number of applications and weeding through them was a lengthy process. They saw an entire range of people. Some weren't qualified enough in Sherlock's eyes. Others were too strict. Some were too nice. Sherlock approved of some, and John approved of others, but they couldn't agree on anyone.

They were tired of the interviews when Marcella Abbot arrived to the flat and took a seat in the middle of Sherlock and John. She had a gentle smile and when she saw Rosie playing with her blocks on the floor, Marcella held her hands out. “Come here my darling,” she said, her voice soft. Rosie crawled to the woman and Marcella placed the girl in her lap. “She's absolutely gorgeous.” Marcella's long red hair spilled over her shoulder and Rosie grabbed a handful of it.

“I like to think so,” John said with a proud grin.

“Tell me about your childcare experience.” Sherlock gave her a hard stare. Marcella smiled back at him.

“I studied childcare in university. I was actually going to start my own daycare, but my mum fell ill and now I don't have the time for it.” That got a sympathetic look from John. Sherlock seemed indifferent about her ill mother. “I'm the only one who can look after my mum, but I still need some sort of a job. And you said looking after little Rosie would be part-time, so I think I can work that into my messy life.”

John made a few notes in his book. She had the training, certainly, but maybe not the experience. But Rosie seemed to love her already. Sherlock kept his notebook blank.

 

* * *

 

“What did we think about Jeanette?”

Both Sherlock and John were in bed, surrounded by a number of papers. They were carefully going through each babysitter that showed some potential.

“No,” Sherlock replied.

“How about David?”

“No.”

“What about--”

“No.”

“You didn't even let me finish.” John kissed Sherlock's cheek as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I only want someone perfect looking after Rosie, too. But if I'm going to work and you're going to go on cases, we need someone to look after Rosie.”

Sherlock didn't reply.

“What about Marcella? She was good. Rosie was fond of her.”

“Hmm.”

“How 'bout a trail run? We have her over for a few hours and see what happens.”

“Hmm.”

John realised that was as much agreement he'd ever get out of Sherlock. “I'll call her tomorrow to see when she can come in.” Sherlock went about pushing the papers off the bed and turned out the light. They were put into complete darkness and only the sound of them moving to find a comfortable position to sleep in was heard. They couldn't see each other, but they had a routine. They were facing each other and Sherlock would always have his hand out on his pillow and John would take it.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, love.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

The flat looked nice. Books were put away and the general clutter that was the kitchen table was removed. Sherlock yawned as he stepped out of his room and combed his fingers through his messy hair. John was already up, showered, and dressed and had Rosie balanced on his hip as he tidied the flat.

“Expect a visit from the Queen?” Sherlock said as he stumbled over to the kettle.

“It's Marcella's trail day,” John replied.

As the kettle heated up, Sherlock picked through their limited selection of cereal and chose the one with the highest sugar content. The previous night, Sherlock had stayed up late working on a case, and worst of all, it was still unsolved.

“And the flat needs to look perfect for the babysitter?” Sherlock sat on the counter and ate his cereal from there. When the kettle was finished boiling, he awkwardly reached around the nearby cupboard and pulled a mug and filled it with the hot water. “Tea bag.”

John opened a cupboard on the other end of the kitchen and pulled a tea bag from its box and tossed it over to Sherlock. With a bit of aiming, he managed to catch the tea bag right in the mug and frowned as some of the hot water splashed out.

“I just want the flat to look nice, that's all,” John replied.

Sherlock scoffed. “Since when do you care about the flat looking nice?”

“I just do.”

As John busied himself with cleaning, Sherlock glanced over to him. “You want to impress her. Why?”

“Because.”

“You're nervous,” he deduced. “You want her to think highly of you.”

“I want her to think highly of _us._ ”

“Us?”

“I'm sure Marcella's not had many couples in our...situation. Two blokes raising a baby together right after the mother and wife died, and then got together. I...I want her to think we're capable.”

Sherlock smiled as he sipped his tea. Their relationship still went without a title, but it was nice to see John worrying about the kind of impressions they'd give. Some days he couldn't believe they were an actual couple and when he realised that, his stomach felt nervous but in a good way.

“I want you to get dressed. She'll be here in an hour,” John instructed.

* * *

 

Marcella let herself into the flat and when she walked into the living room, she saw a perfectly clean flat and in the middle of that living room were Sherlock and John. Rosie was balanced on John's hip and the way the two men stood together made them look like a family. It was touching.

“Sherlock and I are going to go out for some new clothes for Rosie,” John explained as he handed his daughter over to the babysitter. Rosie beamed the moment she was placed in Marcella's arms. “We're only going to be gone a few hours. You have my number in case anything goes wrong. But I doubt anything will go wrong. Rosie's a very good girl and she doesn't get into trouble.”

Rosie tugged on Marcella's red hair again. “No, Rosie's always been good.”

“Yeah,” John agreed with a grin as he crossed the room to put his coat on and tossed Sherlock's coat to him. Sherlock smiled a strained smile as he caught his coat and shrugged it on. “Something wrong?” John asked.

“No,” Sherlock replied as he ushered John out the door before glancing back to Marcella and Rosie. “Everything's fine.”

* * *

 

Sherlock and John sat in the cab heading back to Baker Street. At their feet were a number of bags filled with clothes. More clothes than any infant would really need. But the two of them had no self-control when it came to spoiling Rosie.

“We're gonna need another dresser for her,” John commented.

“Hmm.” Sherlock stared out the window.

John placed his hand over Sherlock's. “Something wrong?” he asked. For the entire ride back from the store, Sherlock seemed a bit distant, just as he did when they were leaving the flat.

“Everything's fine,” Sherlock replied.

When the two arrived back at the flat, they struggled up the stairs while trying to carry the bags. A few plastic coat hangers started to stick out from the flimsy plastic and one bag ripped open just as they stepped inside.

“How was Rosie?” John asked as he crouched down to pick up the clothes from the floor.

Sitting in Sherlock's chair with Rosie on her lap, the babysitter smiled. “She was fine. She's always fine,” she replied, running her fingers through Rosie's curly blonde hair. The same curly blonde hair the babysitter had. On the arm of the chair was a red wig, no longer of use.

John glanced up from the clothes only to see Mary sitting before him. John dropped the clothes.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic didn't get forgotten or anything, I've just been very busy with schoolwork but now that school is done* I should hopefully be updating on a weekly basis again.   
> *classes at least.

 

The flat was a mess. In just a week it went from spotless to a disaster zone. The drapes sadly hung over the windows, preventing any natural light and table tops gathered dust. And John's chair sat cold and unused across from Sherlock's. Sherlock was curled up in his chair, his hands over his head. In that week, he couldn't bear to sleep in the bed he and John shared and could only sleep a few hours at a time in the small chair. The poor man was heartbroken, having lost John to Mary again.

After a brief explanation of how she died and why she died, John and Mary went to live together with Rosie back in their old flat. John sold the flat when he left it, but Mary was the secret buyer, knowing she'd be able to return soon. The reason for her death was to tie loose ends of her past and faking her death consisted of a rehearsed scene with Vivian using a fake gun and some fake blood.

And just like that, things went back to normal, as if those past few months didn't happen. John was with Mary and Sherlock was with no one.

John hadn't visited Sherlock or even texted him. In a short week, it seemed John had completely forgot about Sherlock. But maybe that's all Sherlock was to John: some sort of diversion of his own sadness. Perhaps John just needed someone to replace Mary and now that she was back, he didn't need Sherlock anymore.

“Knock knock.” Lestrade invited himself in, carrying in a bag. Sherlock hadn't been getting back to his texts, and he heard about Mary's unexpected return. Maybe he wasn't the best detective, but he could figure out why Sherlock went suddenly silent.

Sherlock scowled as Lestrade opened the drapes and let light in. “Got some takeaway. There's a new place near my flat that makes the _best_ pad thai I've ever had in my life.” The bag with the takeaway boxes were placed on the coffee table.

Lestrade sat on the arm of John's chair, as if knowing he wasn't meant to actually sit in it. “What's on your mind?”

Sherlock remained silent, but that didn't matter – Greg knew exactly what was bothering Sherlock. A few years ago, he had seen the same thing at John and Mary's wedding. Sherlock was lonely and he was too proud to admit it. And certainly everyone got lonely from time to time, but lonesomeness could mean a relapse with Sherlock. One that he might not recover from without John. 

“You won't believe this, but I locked my own keys _inside_ my car.” Sherlock ignored him. “Couldn't believe I had done that! I tried to break into my own car and probably looked like an idiot in front of everyone.” Sherlock kept his gaze to the ground. Greg kept on rambling, not caring whether or not Sherlock paid any attention to him. What he wanted was to just visit Sherlock, to just let him know he wasn't as alone as he thought. That if he wasn't so stubborn, he could reach out for help and someone would take his hand. Sherlock didn't seem touched by the sudden visit, but Sherlock rarely looked appreciative over anything. “Did I mention I got a cat? Well I'm babysitting a cat. My sister's gonna be out of town for some time and she wanted me to look after it. I'm not much of a cat person, but I don't mind this guy. We keep to ourselves and I like that...”

Lestrade's voice became white noise to Sherlock and it was easy enough to ignore and he was able to wallow in his own thoughts. John had left him. And hadn't spoke to him since. Their relationship seemed to be over just as soon as it started and it looked like John wasn't grown-up enough to actually call it off. Of course John couldn't have seen Mary coming back – no one could – but it still hurt to be left behind without a word. The flat became so empty without John or Rosie's laughter to brighten the place up.

“I love him,” Sherlock said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“John. I love him.” Sherlock had never said that to John. Never thought to and why would he? It looked like they would be spending forever together and such a thing didn't have to be said. But now he wished he said it. Said it every day when he had the chance.

Greg swallowed. “I know,” he said gently. “I know, love.” Greg moved from the chair and made his way over to Sherlock, where he rested his hand on his shoulder. “I know it doesn't fix anything, but I'm here for you. If you need me, _call me_ , do you understand? Because a lot of us out there care for you, more than you'd care to realise. I'm here for you.”

* * *

Sherlock didn't say anything else for the rest of the visit and Lestrade had run out of things to ramble about. After a fast goodbye, Lestrade was gone and the flat went silent. Suddenly he began to miss Lestrade's ramblings. 

What roused him from his chair was the smell of the takeaway and his rumbling stomach. Sherlock grabbed some of the pad thai, but didn't bother reheating it. As he ate, his phone began to buzz, getting a text message. When he saw it was from John, his heart skipped and he read over the text:

 

Mary and i have Decided I Can't See You Again. what happened between us meant nothing. I Love her not You.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Sherlock awkwardly perched himself on the floral sofa as he looked around the living room. The place could be mistaken for Mrs Hudson's flat with the way it was arranged: family photos everywhere, bright wallpaper lined the walls, and potted plants grew in the windowsill. Sherlock realised he had never actually been inside of Molly's flat for all the time he knew her.

Molly sat across from him, curling up in a cat-hair-covered armchair, her legs tucked beneath her. She stared at Sherlock, unsure why he decided to invite himself in. Ever since that phone call, Molly had been distant toward Sherlock and the two had never spent time alone together. John was always there to break the ice or ease tensions.

“As you know, Mary isn't dead,” Sherlock said slowly, as if he were talking to a scared animal that would run away if he spoke too fast.

“Yes.”

“And she and John are living together with Rosie just as they have been before.”

“Yes.”

“And John's been spending all his time with Mary. I haven't heard from him in ages, have you?”

Molly slowly blinked. “If you're asking me to be a replacement John, I won't do it. I won't go on cases with you and say you're clever and do whatever else John does on cases. I'm not his replacement.”

“I never said you – ”

“But that's what I am to you.” Her voice was heavy as she was finally saying things she had been keeping pent-up for years. She knew how silly she always looked when she had a crush on Sherlock, trying to go after a man who showed no interest in her. Some probably thought her crush was childish, but what she felt was real at the time. She learned over the years that Sherlock might have had feelings for John, not for her and accept that. 

She knew to Sherlock, she was background noise to him. And he always spoke kindly to her when he needed to use the lab or her advice, but when she wasn't needed, she went ignored. She never felt she was a friend of Sherlock's, more like a colleague. And now that John was spending his time with Mary, it looked as though Sherlock was asking Molly to be his John for the time being.

That wasn't the reason for Sherlock's visit, although he did need her help. He desperately needed her help.

Molly bit her lip. “So why is it you've come here?” She couldn't stay angry with Sherlock, she knew that. And if he needed help, she'd give it to him. But she wished she could be seen as his equal instead of something he could use.

“I got a text from John,” he explained, pulling out his phone and looking at the message. “I think he's in trouble.”

“Why?”

“It was in code.”

“Can I see it?”

Sherlock looked suddenly pale and he clutched his phone to his chest, not wanting Molly to see the message. Or at least not the entire thing. But explaining it out loud would be so much harder than just letting her see and he handed the phone over.

 

**Mary and i have Decided I Can't See You Again. what happened between us meant nothing. I Love her not You.**

 

Molly stared at the phone for some time. “You and John were dating after Mary died?” she asked quietly, handing the phone back.

“As you can see, all words with a capital letter is the actual message and words without an upper-case letter is just fluff.”

Molly smiled a very small smile. “I always thought... that the two of you had something. But neither of you said anything and I didn't want to ask. But – ”

“John sent that after he moved in with Mary. It was the only message he has sent me since she came back,” Sherlock said, staring at the floor, trying to stop his cheeks from turning pink.

“Are you saying Mary's holding him hostage?”

“Not entirely, but isn't it strange? She returns without warning, revealing she wasn't actually dead, and now I haven't heard a word from John.” Molly hummed in response, thinking. “What I want to know is if John has been in contact with you.” Molly shook her head. “Have you been in contact with Mary?”

Molly nodded. “The other day I came by with flowers,” she said. “Because... I'm not sure what else you bring to someone who was dead but now isn't. I thought flowers would be safe. And I spoke to Mary, but come to think of it, John never even came to the door.”

“Do you think Mary is up to something?”

Molly bit her lip. “I always thought she was up to something,” she admitted quietly. “It was all a bit odd, don't you think? When you did your thing on the roof, Mary showed up almost immediately. Like there was a plan for it. But I thought that was crazy and it was all just a coincidence and I should have felt happy for John and I was, but I couldn't help but wonder if...” she trailed off.

“I'm going to ask you to do something. You can say no. But I was wondering if you would be willing to meet Mary – in a public area – to talk. Not about this, but about something else, and see if you could notice anything strange about her. Anything suspicious. If you're willing.”

Molly's eyes met Sherlock's and she smiled. “It sounds exciting." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay now I'm officially done school for the year.   
> A working title for this chapter was "Foxtrots desperately tries to duct tape over what happened in series 4 like what actually happened with Molly" I really, really hated that phone scene (and that episode in general) and in my series 4 fix-it fic, I'm trying to fix whatever went on with Molly. thb I don't think it can be truly fixable, but here's an attempt.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Sleep paralysis is often described as the inability to move while waking from sleep. Other descriptions include feeling a weight on your chest making it difficult to breathe. Or seeing a monster of sorts in front of you, but not able to move away from it. The hallucination feels real and causes distress to the individual.

 

Sherlock assumed he was experiencing sleep paralysis. It was early morning when he was beginning to wake up and he felt something heavy on his chest. Something that squeezed the air out of his lungs. When he opened his eyes, he saw a figure above him, sitting on his chest. It was in shadow as the sun was still rising and a curtain hung at the nearby window, blocking out most of the outside light. But the figure slowly came into focus. Even in the dark, he started to see the figure's fine features, see the shine of her blonde hair, the curve of her cheek. It was unmistakably

“Mary?”

“Didn't mean to wake you.” She smiled. “No really, I didn't mean to wake you. I was hoping you'd sleep through this. Make it easier for the both of us.”

“Make what...” Sherlock was still drowsy from his sleep and the weight on his chest didn't help. Each breath he took became more of a struggle. It made him feel weak and even the thought of raising an arm to push Mary off of him felt nearly impossible.

“I really think it's quite obvious what I'm doing,” she replied, scrunching her nose as she spoke. And it was obvious, wasn't it? She on his chest, slowly pushing all the air from his lungs while he supposedly slept on. Sherlock felt weaker by the second, but his mind was still racing.

“You're trying to kill me.”

“I thought that was already established.”

“Why?”

“You damn well know why.”

Sherlock coughed as he struggled for more air, but it didn't come to him. “Thought an assassin would have a better way at doing it.”

Mary smiled again. “I do prefer the gun method. It's faster, has less talking. I don't have to do as much work,” she replied. “But this way, your friends at the Yard will have a suspect.” She leaned forward and placed a hand over his mouth and pinched his nose with her other. “Remember that friend of yours? The one that owned the hospital. Didn't he like to kill people this way? Wouldn't he want some kind of revenge? Why wouldn't he just pop in and finish the job he started?”

Sherlock started to struggle against her, tossing his head from side to side, trying to loosen her grip. But she held on, intent on finishing what she had started.

“Just relax,” she said gently. “It's only going to take a moment.”

Sherlock felt his vision begin to blur and his limbs grew heavy. Even his struggling grew slow and laboured. Mary smiled as she felt his breaths grow shallower and shallower. It would only take a moment now.

But Mary startled when she heard the door to the flat open. Her body grew tense and she strained to listen to the intruder. Maybe it was Mrs Hudson's flat she heard. Maybe it was a car door slamming outside on the street. But the floorboards creaked and she heard the rustling of plastic bags. It was still early morning, too early for any visitors, she was certain of that.

“Got some breakfast,” Lestrade called out from the living room. The plastic bags were set down and the sound of his footsteps neared the bedroom. “Hey, are you decent?” he asked as he tapped on the door.

“Shit!” Mary hissed as she released Sherlock from her grip. She removed herself from his chest and searched around the room for a place to hide. If Greg walked in now, there wouldn't be an explanation for her being there. Surely he'd assume some kind of affair was going on, seeing her in his room at this time. But hiding would be no use, would it? Sherlock would know her hiding spot and just reveal her to Greg. It was then her eyes locked on the window.

“Come on,” Lestrade said as he opened the door, inviting himself in. “I'm not gonna have you wasting the day sleeping.”

Since John had left, Sherlock had fallen into a rut and Lestrade made a habit of visiting Sherlock every few days to make sure he was taking care of himself. Often times, he'd bring some food or help tidy the flat, or even make sure Sherlock was showering.

“It's gonna be a beautiful day.” Lestrade made his way to the window and pulled back the curtains. Seeing the window open, he pushed it shut. “You're gonna catch a cold with that thing open,” he added in, oblivious to Mary's presence. She left no hint that she was even there. Not even the scent of her perfume could be smelled – it looked like she learned from her past experiences. “I was thinking we could go out for a walk. Get some fresh air, and get you out of the flat.”

Sherlock was still trying to catch his breath as he stared at Lestrade. Slowly he felt himself grow stronger and he managed to sit himself up, leaning against the headboard.

“Something wrong?” Lestrade asked, noticing Sherlock's pale face, his heaving shoulders as he breathed.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said quietly, his voice hoarse.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock lounged on the lumpy sofa as he went through a number of texts he received from Molly. As planned Molly invited Mary out to lunch in hopes of finding out exactly what she was after. Why was she keeping John hidden away? And more importantly, why did she try to kill Sherlock a second time?

But Mary saw through the plan. During lunch, as Molly informed Sherlock via text, Mary deflected all questions, and the ones she did answer were ambiguous. She seemed to be an expert at not giving a straight answer and Molly ran out of questions to ask. It was ultimately a failure and worst of all, it seemed Mary was on to Molly. Sherlock asked Mycroft to keep an eye on Molly, just in case Mary tried to go after her.

In the meantime, Sherlock was in the process of thinking up a new way to trick Mary into revealing her plans.

But it was hard to think when he wasn't in his own flat. Instead of residing in 221b, Sherlock found himself in Lestrade's flat. The DI thought it too dangerous to leave Sherlock alone in his flat and offered him the sofa. But that was as far as Lestrade's use went – he was unable to charge Mary with attempted murder, not when he wasn't there to witness it. And not when any evidence was left over. Of course, he could arrest her on suspicion, but the trail would ultimately set her free.

“Then why not arrest her anyway?” Sherlock snapped the night before as he tried to get himself comfortable on the old sofa. It was the very same sofa he slept on years before when he had first met Lestrade. “While you question her, I'll talk to John. Get him and Rosie somewhere safe.”

Lestrade shrugged. “She's clever. Really clever. Don't you think she'd have some people working for her? Have a plan in case she got arrested? Can't see how that'd solve anything or keep John safe.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Useless. Lestrade was completely useless.

Lestrade thought he couldn't be more helpful when he offered Sherlock a safe place to stay for the time being. But to him it was hard to believe Mary was up to something. John regularly sent Lestrade texts as he did before and noticed no change when Mary returned. Lestrade wasn't doing to say it to Sherlock's face, but he was fairly certain Sherlock was exaggerating the whole thing. After all, Sherlock had a tenancy to be dramatic and while the attack in his room wasn't an exaggeration (he had marks left on his face from the attacker) Lestrade wasn't entirely sure it was Mary herself. It was dark in the room and Sherlock did have a number of enemies and how would Mary be able to sneak out of her house so early in the morning without rousing suspicion? It didn't add up.

And of course, the main factor behind the exaggerations and blaming Mary was one emotion everyone feels from time to time: jealousy. Sherlock admitted he loved John and now with Mary back in the picture, it only made sense for Sherlock to feel jealous. It made sense for jealous to cloud his judgement, to make him believe she was up to something sinister when she really wasn't. 

* * *

 

“Why not have your brother watch your flat? See if anyone comes back?” Lestrade asked as he sat on the sofa with Sherlock, watching television. Sherlock stayed curled up against the arm of the sofa, wrapped in his blanket.

Lestrade glanced over and smiled at the sight of Sherlock: that was the way Sherlock would sit on the sofa all those years ago when they first met.

It was a regular night shift for Lestrade when the very high detective sauntered to the crime scene. Only being a junior officer at the time, Lestrade had the job of escorting Sherlock away while the more senior officers examined the crime scene.

But Sherlock refused to leave and before he knew it, he was in handcuffs and thrown into the back of the police cruiser. Lestrade had gotten into the driver's seat to drive him off to the station when Sherlock muttered who was responsible for the crime. At first Lestrade thought he was just saying things, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. As he drove off, he radioed the other officers and the case was solved by the time he made it to the station. Sherlock had a smug grin on his face and Lestrade stated, “You'd make a good cop.”

“I don't like limiting myself with rules and procedures,” he replied.

There was something about the man in the back of the police cruiser and Lestrade couldn't figure out what. There was a certain charm about him he found irresistible and he wanted more of it. “Listen... if you sober up, get your shit together, I think you'd be a pretty great asset to the Yard.”

Somehow, the stranger in the back of the cruiser persuaded Lestrade to let him sleep on the sofa that night. And the following night. And the following months.

When the show was over, Lestrade turned the television off. “Goodnight,” he muttered as he made his way to his own room. Sherlock stretched himself out on the sofa, tucking himself in. Lestrade took a final glance at the figure on his sofa before closing the door to his bedroom.

It was definitely jealousy that was effecting Sherlock's judgement. Lestrade was an expert on that.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Time passed. Sherlock spent ages on Lestrade's sofa and John remained silent. Lestrade seemed more than content to stay idle and “just see where things go” with John, as if expecting John would somehow show up on the doorstep to the flat acting as though he hadn't been missing for the past few weeks.

Sherlock of course would have gone to find John himself, but he knew how dangerous Mary could be. She had no problem shooting him once, so why should she hesitate to do it again? So Sherlock was stuck on the sofa, day after day, feeling his mind go to waste while Lestrade seemed oblivious to any issues at all.

But Sherlock couldn't wait forever. With or without Lestrade's help, he was going to find John and take him back from Mary by whatever means possible. And while Lestrade was at work, Sherlock crept about the flat. Lestrade was a cop and surely he'd have some means of personal protection in the flat. A taser, perhaps. Or maybe even a gun if he was lucky. Most people who owned weapons kept them near their bed, in case of a night-time robbery. The bedside table in Lestrade's room had nothing useful and Sherlock was careful to put the contents back in just as he found them. When he was starting to give up on the search, he noticed a small pile of papers on the dresser. They were large scrap pieces of paper and given how tidy Lestrade's room was, it seemed strange he'd leave used paper about.

Without thinking twice, Sherlock grabbed the paper and stared at it. But they were just gas receipts. Sherlock scowled and crumpled the paper in his hand and let it fall to the floor, not bothering to clean it up.

There were no signs of weapons in the room, or anything that could be useful to his search for John. No clues, nothing out of place. The room was tidy as it had always been, with the bed made, pillows fluffed and laptop tucked neatly under the bed. Lestrade preferred to keep his laptop _under_ the bed instead of on a counter in fear he'd knock it over during the night. It was a stupid precaution in Sherlock's mind. Why not just leave it in another room? Why waste time bending over awkwardly to get it?

Sherlock was about ready to leave the room to search elsewhere for weapons, but his gaze stayed on the bed. Or rather, the space under the bed where the laptop was.

Sherlock sat on the bed and reached down to pull the laptop out of hiding, then opened its lid. After turning it on, it asked for the password. Sherlock paused. Abigail was the name Lestrade's of his oldest child, but it wasn't accepted as the password. Second child was Daniel, but again, that wasn't accepted.

A small note appeared on screen, giving a warning that there was only one chance left to guess the password before the laptop became locked. Sherlock paused and glanced around the room, looking for password hints. After some amount of thought, he began to type in a password:

 

Barney's

 

It felt strange typing that in or even thinking of that place. But the password was accepted and Sherlock was invited into Lestrade's laptop.

Sherlock then went for Lestrade's email account. The password was again, Barney's and he was let in without any trouble. From there it was a quick search through contacts to find an officer – friend or colleague – who would prove to be more useful than Lestrade.

But his search was interrupted when a new email came into the inbox. A small text bubble appeared, stating the new message came from Mary Watson.

Sherlock dropped his search and clicked on the text bubble. It led him to the email. It was short and to the point:

 

Remember our deal.

 

 

Sherlock slammed the laptop closed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for my sudden absence. I've been suddenly busy (I'm currently abroad now) but this fic hasn't been forgotten and I still have plans for it.


End file.
